


Battle Born

by Angelic_Temptress



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Endgame, F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-05-03 01:57:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14558334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelic_Temptress/pseuds/Angelic_Temptress
Summary: Small glimpses into Jaime and Brienne's intertwined tale.





	1. Chapter 1

**Brienne**

Little more than an hour ago, Brienne had fought the dead. Though they’d burned quick enough with fire and expired faster yet when stabbed with dragonglass, they’d been unremitting. A score of men had clashed with the horde, and despite the odds, fifteen had returned to Winterfell.

Jaime had been beside her the entire time, and she had been pleased to learn they moved well together. Brienne hadn’t the need to think; she’d simply acted, and he’d harmonized with her.

Even with only his left hand, Jaime had blazed in battle. He’d been born to it, she thought. A small part of her wished she could have sparred him at his peak. Golden and beautiful, she could picture Jaime with two hands and a callous smile – a smile she no doubt would have shoved into the dirt.

Brienne was exhausted. She’d trudged through a fresh powder of nearly knee-deep snow, and her body ached from the cold, the combat, and the added weight of heavy furs. In the North, they all were forced to layer, and she still wore her blue steel beneath. Brienne didn’t feel safe without it.

The fire of her room burned brightly. Podrick had seen to it. After he’d assisted Brienne with her cloak and armor, she’d asked him to fetch hot cider or mulled wine and whatever the cooks were passing off as food that evening. Though the hour was late, she knew they still kept the gruel stewing to accommodate all the night’s shifts.

A knock, and Brienne silently thanked the gods. To her surprise, Jaime stood behind the door.

“I haven’t disturbed you, have I?” he asked, his mouth curved into the charming, half-mocking grin she detested. Each smile line was a road she could get lost on. “I wanted to tell you it felt good to fight on the same side.”

Brienne narrowed her eyes. “Is that not something that could have waited ‘til morning?”

“I’m afraid not.” Jaime glanced past her. “May I come in? I know it’s a bit improper with the hour and all.” 

She huffed and opened the door wider to accommodate him. Just as he stepped inside, Podrick arrived with her dinner and wine upon a tray. The boy’s eyes widened just slightly, and she wasn’t sure if it were in disbelief or delight. 

“Dutiful Podrick,” Jaime stated and motioned to her small table. “It’s good you brought a carafe. I am parched.”

“Of course, my lord.” Pod laid the tray atop the table and poured two cups of the hot wine. “Lady Brienne, will you require anything else this evening?” A pleasant smile touched his lips.

“Goodnight, Podrick.” 

He closed the door as he left.

+++


	2. Chapter 2

**Jaime**

Jaime had found her among the dead, leaning on Oathkeeper like a crutch. Blood covered her face, a shock against her pale skin in the moon’s light.

Snow began to fall.

“Brienne?” he reached for her, carefully touching her face and searching for the injury.

“It’s not my blood,” she managed with eyes downcast. “It’s Podrick’s.”

He sighed with awful relief. _Of course it belonged to Podrick._ Jaime decided not to pull away, and instead, his hand cupped her cheek. Each monstrous snowflake mesmerized him as they melted upon her hair, and when she finally looked up at him, his heart nearly broke for her.

Brienne seemed a phantom upon the field of snow – her watery eyes, the blue steel beneath her furs, and the moonlight all saw to her ethereal, agonizing glow. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

“Take her inside,” Tormund Giantsbane recommended, rousing Jaime from his stupor. The wildling’s blue eyes were tired, and his furs were stained with red. “We will tend to the dead.”

Of course the lady refused and remained until the fallen had all burned through.

Upon their return to Winterfell, Jaime ordered a bath be drawn for Brienne in her chambers. He also made sure that she had a cup of mulled wine while he removed her plates. The alternating women whispered as they carried their buckets of water, but he paid no mind.

Brienne noticed none of it. She barely responded to any of his quiet commands. Though it took him longer than he cared to admit, Jaime was glad he’d removed all her armor himself. She deserved the aide of a friend.  

“Will you be needin’ anything else, m’lord?” a maid with rosy cheeks asked. Thin fingers clutched the handle of her empty pail, and sweat beaded at her forehead. When he shook his head, she left quickly enough, shutting the door behind her.

Jaime dipped a cloth in Brienne’s washbasin and wiped her face of the blood that had dried. Her gaze abruptly settled upon him for the first time since they’d entered her room. 

“I’m sorry,” she muttered. 

“For what?” He returned to the basin and squeezed the cloth, tainting the fresh water with Podrick’s blood.

“I don’t think I remember returning to Winterfell. Thank you.” 

Jaime shrugged before sitting in the chair before her. He wiped more of the red from her cheek and the corner of her plump mouth. “It’s the very least I could do.” He wanted to comfort her but didn’t know how. “There is a hot bath awaiting you. I thought you might want…” His sentence trailed for he did not know what Brienne wanted. He’d never seen her this defeated.

“Yes. I must look frightful.” She flinched at her words before running a hand through her short, blonde hair.

“I should leave you to yourself then.” Jaime stood and dropped the soiled cloth into the bowl, unintentionally splashing water both onto the tabletop and onto himself. He resisted cursing.

Brienne stood as well before gently placing her hand atop his forearm. “Thank you for staying.” Her touch set his arm afire, forcing him to face her. The warm burn of the hearth darkened her eyes.

Jaime wanted to assure that he would be just down the hall, but the words would not come. Instead, he kissed the corner of her mouth – the same corner he’d just washed. “Goodnight, Brienne,” he managed before departing. 

+++


	3. Chapter 3

**Brienne**

They’d sworn quiet vows before the gods belonging to the family she protected. She’d given him her maidenhead that same evening, and he’d taken her to a plane she’d never reached before.

Just days later, a horde had overrun Winterfell, and Jon Snow had ordered the castle ablaze as they’d made their escape. Now they slowly rode south, the army smaller than it had been. Queen Daenerys had flown ahead with her Hand and a few advisors, but the rest of her army traveled on horseback through the frozen swamplands of the Neck.

Lady Sansa’s lips were blue, though she acted as if she could not feel the cold. She sat regally upon her steed, riding in tandem with Brienne and her sister. The two always stayed close to one another, especially now that they were the last of the Starks.

Sandor Clegane rode behind the girls. Brienne thought it good to have him near.

She looked ahead to where Jaime rode beside Jon and Tormund, and as if he could feel her, he turned his head slightly to glance behind.

“How are you and Ser Jaime fairing, Lady Brienne?” Sansa asked unprompted. “I realize two nights and a retreat aren’t exactly a good measure of a marriage.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Clegane grumbled. “Will I have to listen to you hens cluck on about the Kingslayer’s _measure_ the entire journey?”

Lady Arya snickered and tossed Clegane an unsympathetic look.

“If Ser Jaime’s performance merits the conversation,” Sansa said,” I think it’s time well spent.”

A blush crept up Brienne’s neck and to her face, so she patted her mare in an attempt to disguise her discomfort. “My husband is… very giving.” As the heat in her cheeks broke, heat returned to her stomach.

“It’s good to know his loud mouth holds other talents. I’m very glad for you, Lady Brienne.”

She nodded and quivered with reveries of Jaime’s mouth and the wicked, delightful tricks it knew.

“Are you afraid to return to King’s Landing?” Arya asked no one and perhaps everyone, her voice unexpectedly icy. A moment passed. One of the horses neighed, and the wind disturbed the empty branches of the surrounding trees.

With whatever mercenaries and Ironborn she had left, Cersei Lannister still held the capital, and Brienne had no urge to see her again. With just a look, the Queen could tear through what little confidence she had, could splinter her into pieces of bare bone. It had been Cersei who had recognized Brienne’s love for Jaime before she even could, and perhaps Cersei had grasped Jaime’s regard for Brienne long before he had as well.

Despite the words he had whispered to her under the cover of darkness, she didn’t want Jaime within reach of Cersei’s treacherousness talons either. His sister would always hold a fragment of him, and Brienne was in no hurry to know how large the fragment.

“We are retreating to the Twins, not King’s Landing.”

“You know we won’t be safe at the Twins, Sansa. We’ll have to keep moving.”

The girl who looked more like her mother with every passing day lifted her hood, to keep the wind at bay. “I used to think I’d rather die than return to that horrid city.”

“You have two large swords at your side, little bird,” Clegane assured. 

“And a needle,” the sister added. “Besides, blood demands blood, and the Starks have bled enough.”

Before dark, they made camp within an abandoned cottage, and though Jon Snow insisted he sleep in a tent like many of his soldiers, Jaime convinced him to take a bed. Four modest bedrooms allowed for the Warden of the North, his sisters, and his counselors some respite. Since Jaime commanded the army of Wildings, Unsullied, Dothraki, and Northmen, he was granted a room to share with his wife. 

Not ten minutes after lighting the hearth, he reached for his willing Brienne, hungrier than she’d expected. His kisses were hot upon her skin, and his tongue was unrelenting as it coxed hers into a different sort of battle.

As he held her, as he filled her, she wondered if she appeased his need. 

The fire dimmed, though he still shone like a god beneath its glimmer. She thought his eyes stunning in firelight.

“Are you afraid to return to King’s Landing?” Her words were an echo of dangerous, little Arya Stark. 

“We are headed to the Twins, wife.”

“And if we retreat again?”

“King’s Landing means nothing to me.”

+++


	4. Chapter 4

**Jaime**

Surrounded by blood and smoke, salt and fire, Jaime thought he would surely die here. His vicious, beautiful sister lay dead beside him in the very place he’d left Aerys. To stop the Night King, Jaime had no choice, and he bit back the tears that had no right to fall. For the realm, he’d justly murdered a mad king and found it poetic that he’d done the same to a mad queen.

Tyrion had set the Blackwater Rush afire, and Cersei had burnt the Sept of Baelor. It was only fair that Jaime burn the castle to the ground.

“Jaime!” He thought he heard Brienne call from somewhere within the smoke. The Red Keep burned green, and yet he saw a flash of blue within its hall. “Jaime!” she yelled again. He blinked, dizzy. Then two strong hands seized his shoulders and shook him. “Jaime.” He’d never heard anything sweeter than the resolute alarm of her voice. “Come. You must come.”

“Brienne?”

She coughed. “We must go.”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“I am your wife,” she reminded. “I made a vow.”

A vow.

He’d sworn the same vow to Brienne before the Old Gods and the New. Jaime remembered the smell of the fresh-fallen snow and the rustle of the weirwood as the wind had whistled through its crimson leaves. He remembered how his warrior bride had looked, basked in the northern moonlight – a true knight deserving of praise and songs she’d never receive because of her gender.

Again, his knight had come to rescue him, to save him from his wretched self.

Jaime took her hand and led her from the fiery Keep, for this was no place for Brienne of Tarth to die.

Days passed since they’d fled the capital, and when Jaime was not below deck making love to his fuckable wife, he stood beside his brother, staring out at sea. They were fewer now, and as survivors of the Great War, it was clear their burden was to rebuild Westeros.

“Marriage is good politics.” Tyrion stated. “And I am married, if she wishes it so.” Lady Sansa had no home, but she had a name, and no great families remained but theirs.

Jaime nodded. “Sansa’s proven to be a capable woman,” he offered with a hand upon his little brother’s shoulder. “She is quite a match. I find your logic sound, but I am not the one who must bed you.” With a playful squeeze, he chuckled and then leaned upon the ledge, staring at his left hand and the stump of his right.

“Thank the gods your tastes run _taller_ these days.” Tyrion turned to face him, his mouth a crooked grin. “I’m delighted, by the way. Lady Brienne has always been a good influence, I think.”

“I merely stopped heeding the opinions of Lannisters.”

“You shouldn’t undervalue your wife’s impact. I think most of us on this ship would be dead if not for her.”

“Do not accuse me of such folly.” Jaime recalled the day he and Brienne had crossed the Trident, the day he’d pulled her second sword from its scabbard. It had been the last time he’d underestimated her.

“Quite honestly, speaking of your romance bores me.” Tyrion still smiled. “Your selfish brother has a love dilemma of his own.”

“Love, you say?”

He shrugged. “I’d be a fool not to learn to love Sansa, though a part of me may already. ”

Sansa Stark had united the forces beneath her banner when both Targaryens and their dragons were lost. Brave and kind, the girl had learned much from both her captures and her family. Implementing her lessons proved to be her great skill.

“Besides, it’s fucking cold in the North. Perhaps one day she will turn to me for warmth as well as counsel.”

Jaime watched the Stark emerge from below deck, her red hair a tumble of loose curls. She wore a dress better suited for the warmer climate, and her sworn sword followed in a leather jerkin and pants. Brienne’s cheeks were flushed, and Jaime wondered if he were still the cause.

“Our wives have arisen, brother. Go to her.” When Tyrion left to talk with the young queen, Jaime motioned Brienne to join him. “Good morning. You seem weary. Has someone kept you from sleep?”

Brienne refused to smile or to look at him. Instead, she gazed out upon the water. “You are relentless and obscene.”

“Am I? Please provide evidence of both your critiques, wife.” Jaime leaned in, positioning himself as close as he dared. “In great detail if possible,” he whispered, and her blush burst upon her skin like freshly bloomed dahlias.  

“I fear your memory is not what it once was, husband.”

“My memory is merciless.”

A wave crashed upon the bow, and Jaime felt a sprinkling of the seawater upon his face. He licked his dry lips, the salt a welcomed taste. Who was he to deserve the sun and the moon, the salt of the sea, and the blue of the sky? Who was he to deserve the adoration of Brienne of Tarth? Jaime stared at her. He couldn’t stop, and he would never, he realized.

“Are you ready to return home, Brienne?”

“Doesn’t matter if I’m ready. Tarth is where we can regroup.” Her eyes lowered. “But there are a few inlets and waterfalls I would like to show you if we have the time to spare. The island is quite beautiful.”

The sapphire isle may have been branded as such for the blue of its waters, but he knew the color could not rival her unwavering eyes. Nothing could.

Jaime covered her hand with his, unsurprised at her small flinch. Whenever he or she touched the other, it was startling. Their touches were like fire, each and every time. He interlaced his fingers with hers.

+++


End file.
